


I Never Get Sick

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily bonding, Gen, Random Literature References, Sickfic, Stubborn Patients, The Alfred Special
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:17:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: Bruce never gets sick. Until he does. And then he thinks he's contracted some supervirus becausehe never gets sick.“Have you stopped to consider that it’s just your turn to get a cold?” Dick asked. “I can remember it happening a few times over the years.”“Colds don’t work that way. They don’t arbitrarily decide who to bring down next,” Bruce growled as his vision blurred.





	I Never Get Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Written for me with some hopeful aspirations that it would make me feel better (it didn't). Two weeks of this nastiness. TWO WEEKS. I feel like I'm relearning how to breathe every morning.
> 
> Enjoy some miserable (and in denial) Bruce.

It started as a tickle in the back of his throat. 

Bruce made a point to take a vitamin C supplement that night before patrol and otherwise ignored it. A fire in a high-rise downtown didn’t do him any favors, even with the rebreather on. By the end of patrol, his throat is _raw_ and he can’t get his voice out of the Batman growl. 

He’s able to pass it off as smoke inhalation to Alfred and gladly spent a few minutes with the oxygen mask as the old man tended to Damian. His son had gotten a bit singed in the fire, but was otherwise fine. 

“I feel like I should be making an _am I missing an eyebrow_ joke,” Tim commented from his place in front of the computer. He hadn’t gone out that night, on Alfred’s orders, as he was still getting over a nasty chest cold. His coughs would periodically ring through the cave, loud and sharp. 

Bruce allowed himself an inward smirk while Damian flailed around wildly. “I am not _missing an eyebrow_ , Drake! What are you even talking about?” 

He reached out and settled a hand on his son’s shoulder, calming him instantly. “It’s a pop culture reference,” he explained through the mask. “From a show I think you’d actually enjoy if you were to give it chance.” 

“If you say so, Father.” Damian settled for shooting glares at the back of Tim’s head for the rest of the night. 

Bruce didn’t allow himself many pleasures in life, focused as he was on his mission and the next case, but tonight, he allowed himself an extra few minutes in the shower. The stinging water felt wonderful on his warm flesh. He _ha-rumphed_ once or twice, telling himself he simply needed to clear his lungs of the smoke from earlier. 

Morning found him aching in bed. Aches and pains were nothing new. He was Batman, they came with the job. No, these were aches of another sort. Of the feverish sort. Opening his gummy eyes, Bruce glared at the ceiling and wished he could curse his second to youngest son. Tim was a lot of things, but he didn’t deserve to be called a plague bearer. 

Even though he was. 

Bruce sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He could feel it rising from deep in his chest and waited. 

One deep, wet cough. 

A second one. 

And another. 

Soon enough, his whole body was wracked by harsh coughs. 

“ _Crap_ ,” he muttered breathlessly and hauled himself up, staggering to the bathroom. He slapped at the light switch and glared at his reflection while he blew his nose. 

This wasn’t happening. He never got sick. His family often joked about his seemingly iron constitution. Bugs and viruses that went through his house like a wild fire passed him by (and Alfred too, which, thank god, because they’d be screwed without the man). Tim’s most recent bout of bronchitis wasn’t anything new. 

Or was it? 

Was it some super strain this time? Was there something he needed to test for? Tim’s immune system was under enough strain as it was, what with sleep and him not being very good friends. But his? Okay, it could be said Bruce slept marginally more than his son, but he took better care of himself, at least eating what was placed in front of him. 

Bruce opened the cabinet and took out the Tylenol, pocketing a couple in his pajama pockets. He needed to draw some blood first. 

*****

“What are you doing, Master Bruce?” Alfred sounded rather peeved at finding him in his lab so early in the day. 

“Comparing my blood sample to Tim’s most recent workup.” He suppressed a cough and pulled his robe tighter around him. The cave was cool at the best of times, but it was downright _cold_ this morning, even in his temperature controlled lab. 

The results weren’t showing anything out of the ordinary. Tim routinely got his blood checked as soon as he showed any signs of getting sick. This particular time, he’d come off rather lightly compared to others Bruce remembered. The fact his son got sick so often was of concern though and he’d been pushing yet again for him to come home more often so he’d get at least one regular meal every other day (Bruce already brought them both lunch on days they were at WE together). 

He glared at the screen. Perhaps if he started a scan for unknown proteins… 

“Sir.” 

“What, Alfred?” Bruce adjusted the samples and reset the scanner. 

“Are you aware you’re flushed and perspiring slightly?” He didn’t need to look up to see the disapproving look on the old man’s face. 

He suppressed another cough. “No. It is a bit chilly in here though. Are the temperature controls on the fritz?” 

The long silence was telling. “They are perfectly fine, sir. Come upstairs and I’ll make you a nice cup of chamomile tea with some lemon and honey.” 

“I need to wait for this scan to finish.” Bruce stubbornly stayed in his seat. The tea did sound good though. 

“Very well, sir. I’ll be back soon.” Alfred left with a dignified huff. 

As he waited, Bruce remembered the Tylenol in his pocket and stumbled as he left the lab in search of a bottle of water. His throat was killing him, there was no way he was going to swallow the pills dry. In the privacy of the cave, he gave in and coughed loudly, the sounds feeling like there should be lung tissue coming up along with all the mucus. 

For such wet coughs, it was annoying that his throat felt like it was on fire. 

He found a water bottle in the fridge by the lockers. Uncapping it, he finished half before he remembered the pills. Everything tasted awful going down, but staying hydrated was important. It also made it easier to find a vein if he needed to draw more blood. 

There were some sugar-free fruit popsicles in the freezer. The box was clearly labeled _Damian_ , but Bruce didn’t think his son would mind. Grabbing a strawberry one, he unwrapped it and returned to his lab. 

The cold popsicle felt _wonderful_ going down his throat even if his lungs didn’t agree and rebelled. 

Which was fine with him as he purposefully coughed onto a slide to see if there _was_ any lung tissue to collect. Tim often complained about coughing up a lung and while it was physically impossible to do so, the strength of some of his coughs indicated there could be possible lung damage. 

Perhaps he should call him down here for a chest x-ray. It may show something. 

He finished the popsicle and set the stick aside in favor of the slide. 

The scanner running the test on the blood samples was almost done when Alfred returned. With reinforcements. 

Dick looked like he’d rolled right out of bed and into whatever clothing he saw first. He ran a tired hand through his messy hair and shook his head. “How long have you been down here?” 

“What time is it?” Bruce purposefully turned his back on his eldest son. 

Alfred set down the promised cup of tea. “It’s almost 10, sir.” 

“And the boys? Are they feeling all right this morning?” He picked up the tea and took a sip. Now this actually tasted like something and he carefully inhaled the herbal scent through his open mouth. His nose was too stuffed up. 

“Master Damian is as right as rain and went to school with his normal amount of fuss. Master Tim is still sleeping.” Unspoken, but still clearly heard was _as you should be_. 

“What are you testing?” Dick approached and leaned a hip against the countertop, his arms crossed loosely. Bruce didn’t miss the reproving glower being sent his way. 

“My blood and Tim’s most recent sample. There’s something wrong and I need to find out what before we all come down with it.” Why doesn’t anyone see what’s going on? He _never_ gets sick. 

Dick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with this,” he muttered tiredly. He reached out and laid a hand over Bruce’s brow. It felt cool as it rested there. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, looking over at his son. The cave was definitely cooler than usual. 

“No, but you’re burning up.” He removed his hand. “You take anything yet?” 

Bruce took another sip of tea. “Tylenol.” 

“There’s the first smart thing you’ve done today,” Alfred commented wryly. Bruce could just make him out in the reflection on the monitor. 

The scanner beeped. Dick glanced at it. “Do you think you and Tim were exposed to something?” 

Finally. Someone got it. “It’s the only explanation,” he said as he pulled the results up on the monitor. “Tim’s more susceptible, so he got sick first. It must be very slow acting as I only started feeling the effects last night.” Bruce frowned at what he was seeing and sipped idly at the tea as he read. He could feel Dick and Alfred’s eyes boring into him. 

Perhaps they didn’t get it after all. But then again, there was _nothing_ to see. The test was inconclusive. 

“Have you stopped to consider that it’s just your turn to get a cold?” Dick asked. “I know you never get sick, but I can remember it happening a few times over the years.” 

“Colds don’t work that way. They don’t arbitrarily decide who to bring down next,” Bruce growled as his vision blurred. He squinted at the screen. 

“No, but Tim was down for the count for a week, Steph had midterms, and I was out of town for that lead you sent me to Spain to check out. You and Damian were stretched pretty thin, even with Cass helping out. I heard Jason even lent a hand.” Dick stretched and yawned. 

Bruce turned his glare on the young man. It never worked on him (hadn’t for years), but it didn’t stop him from trying. “We were fine.” He sipped again from the tea, taking a bigger gulp this time. It did feel good on his throat. Alfred must have been generous with the honey. “When Tim gets up, I want him down here for a chest x-ray. I also want to see if we can get some lung tissue from him. He’s still coughing hard.” 

Dick didn’t even try to hide his eye roll. “Bruce…” 

He slammed the mug down hard on the counter, almost spilling what little liquid was left. “Dammit, Dick! Take this seriously or get out!” 

His son stood up straight and glared at him like a recalcitrant child. “Bruce. You have a cold. It’s nothing more than that. Your tests even say so.” 

Bruce stood as well and tried hard to hide the wobble in his legs as he did. He was Batman, he was not going to fall on his face in his own lab while arguing with his son. “I never get sick.” 

The words are punctuated by the timely arrival of the wracking cough. Even he couldn’t deny it sounded horrible. He was gasping for air by the time it left, leaving him feeling weak. His hands were braced on counter for support as he sucked in gulps of air. He was dizzy and those were spots in front of his eyes. 

He blinked hard and focused on the mug of tea just under his nose. 

The tea. 

He gasped again and turned a betrayed eye on Dick, who was rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You…drugged…me.” 

Dick didn’t look repentant in the slightest. “The Alfred Special. Works every time. Go to sleep, Bruce. You’re gonna need it.” 

Bruce sagged as his legs finally gave out. He felt Dick’s strong arms wrapping around him before he hit the floor and the world went dark. 

*****

When he awoke, he was once again in bed staring at his ceiling. The curtains were wide open and the early afternoon sunlight streamed into his spacious room, stopping just short of hitting the dark blue coverlet on his bed. There was a faint hissing sound to his right. Turning his head, he spotted the humidifier that was usually a fixture in Tim’s room when Alfred could wrangle him here for treatment. 

Jason could almost always be counted on to drag the wayward bird home. He took perverse delight in finding new and interesting ways of dropping Tim off. 

The last time had been with Tim bound hand and foot in a padded packing crate. 

Bruce frowned as he took stock of his situation. His head throbbed, his chest ached, his throat no longer hurt, but he couldn’t breathe through his nose, stuffed up as it was. He had a sneaking suspicion that if he so much as sat up, he’d be folded over in seconds with the cough that’s been haunting the Manor hallways for the last week. 

“Finally awake, I see.” Dick’s voice came from the armchair to the left of his bed. “Before you say anything, Alfred gave you an antibiotic shot while you were passed out. He also called Dr. Thompkins and she prescribed the same cough medicine for you that she did for Tim. I’ve got it right here when you’re ready to move.” 

“If I move, I’ll cough,” he rumbled. 

But even that little bit was enough as his lungs protested and he started coughing, hard and wet and deep. He sat up, but it didn’t seem to help. Dick was next to him in an instant, a plastic basin placed in his lap. 

“Spit it up,” he ordered. 

Bruce huffed and wheezed and god, it was disgusting feeling that crap rise up out of his throat and into his mouth. He spat willing into the basin and gasped as air finally made its way back into his lungs. 

He collapsed back against the pillows, breathing shallowly. 

“That’s gross,” Dick announced as he analyzed the sputum. “This is going right down the drain.” 

Bruce didn’t even protest and coughed weakly in response. 

“Time for your medicine!” Dick leaned over and grabbed something from a tray sitting on the nightstand. “Down the hatch!” 

The little medicine cup is pushed against his lips like he’s a child. Bruce glowered, but as usual, it had no effect. He opened his mouth and the syrupy medicine is tipped in. He swallowed quickly, the taste tacky and sweet against his tongue. As far as he was concerned, artificial cherry flavor was one of the worst things on the planet. 

Dick smirked at the expression on his face. “The doc even made sure it was cherry flavored, just for you. Every four hours, Bruce. We’ll all be taking turns to make sure you take your medicine.” 

“All?” he rasped out. 

“Yup! We’re taking turns.” Dick slid off the bed and tossed a box of tissue in his general direction. “Those are from Tim. He recommends the brand as not being killer on the nose. He also did the chest x-ray while you were napping and sent it to Dr. Thompkins. Everything looks fine.” 

Bruce settled back into the pillows as his normally razor-sharp mind tried to process the news. That couldn’t be right. There had to be something off. Something that would explain why he was laid up with this bug as well. Perhaps the scan didn’t go deep enough. Was it molecular? Was something rewriting their very DNA? 

“Okay, you stop that. Right now.” Dick leaned over and flicked him right between the eyes. “I can _see_ you overthinking things. It’s a cold, Bruce. A really sucky one, but that’s all it is.” 

“But…I…never…get…sick.” Each word is punctuated by a cough. Now that all the crap was out of his lungs (for the moment), it was dry and harsh. It hurt. 

“This time you did. Here.” Dick handed him another mug full a steaming orange liquid. “No sedatives, but it’s got a vitamin boost that’s making it all nice and citrusy for you. Alfred made all of us drink this at lunch. He did too, before you ask.” 

The warm liquid was soothing as it helped ease the ache in his chest. Apparently, his sleep hadn’t been as quiet as he originally thought. By the time he was done, Bruce felt sleepy again. He couldn’t help the suspicious look he sent Dick’s way. 

He grinned as he took the empty mug from him. “The cough medicine is supposed to make you kind of loopy. Sleep tight, Bruce.” 

Traitor. 

*****

It was like this the next time he woke up, only it was Alfred with a mask over his mouth and nose and a hot bowl of soup waiting for him. 

“I am not sorry in the slightest, Master Bruce,” he said in response to the withering glare from the world’s most recalcitrant patient. “I am too old to deal with your stubbornness. Besides, think about the example you’re setting for Master Damian. He’s already difficult enough as it is.” 

Bruce bit his tongue and blew his nose. Tim was right about the tissues. 

*****

He had been hoping to sneak down to the cave while everyone was out on patrol (Tim had been released from his house arrest earlier; apparently the chest x-ray was his bargaining chip for it), but when he got out of the bathroom, Bruce found the bedroom door blocked by a rather imposing figure in a familiar leather jacket. 

Jason. 

His second son smirked viciously at him and made a shooing motion towards the bed. “Don’t even think about it. I heard you in there hacking up a lung.” 

“That’s physically impossible.” Bruce shuffled forward, his route still undetermined. 

“Tell that to your lungs. I’m under pain of Alfred to keep your ass in here. Get in bed.” 

“I’ve been in bed all day. I need to move around.” He managed to say it without coughing once. 

Jason didn’t even twitch. “Then walk a few laps in here. The room’s big enough for it.” 

Bruce veered off towards the bed to blow his nose. Tim had complained over the amount of mucus (he refused to think of it as snot) this bout of bronchitis came with and it seemed the same was holding true for him. He gazed assessingly at Jason. 

Under normal circumstances, he could take Jason down. Barely, as his son was a rather unconventional fighter and wasn’t afraid to fight dirty. But he was hardly at his best right now and Jason’s unmasked eyes were watching every move he made closely. 

At the same time, he was guarding the bedroom door. If he could make it to the balcony and swing down into the room below, there was a chance he could get through the room fast enough to lock the hallway door from the outside and trap his son for a few precious minutes. Minutes that would get him to the cave and put it in lockdown to keep him out. 

He coughed again, his lungs reminding him he didn’t have just the drainage to deal with. There was also another rather important variable he needed to account for. 

“Where’s Alfred?” 

Jason smirked again and chuckled this time, like he could _see_ Bruce’s thought process. “Restocking the infirmary. I think he said somethin’ about sanitizing the computer next. He doesn’t want any more infected bats on his hands.” 

Damn. 

He coughed some more and glanced at the balcony. The curtains were closed tightly, which meant Alfred had been here before going downstairs. There was no chance the doors would be unlocked. 

His wayward bird caught the direction his attention had gone. “Go ahead, B. I dare ya.” He looked like he was eager for the chance to put Bruce down. 

It wasn’t worth the effort. 

Bruce blew his nose again and crawled back into bed. 

Jason’s lips quirked sullenly as he crossed the room in still booted feet and took off his jacket before taking a seat in the armchair. He picked up Bruce’s little medicine cup and poured out more of the vile liquid. “Bottom’s up,” he said as he tried to hand it to him. 

Bruce glared at the medicine. The cherry taste from the last dose still lingered on his tongue. 

“Do I need to make _choo-choo_ noises? Drink it.” 

He glowered (still just as ineffectual on Jason as it ever was) and swallowed quickly. When he was done coughing, an automatic reflex he couldn’t suppress as the syrupy liquid went down his throat, he handed the cup back to Jason. “Do you have any idea how vile that stuff is?” 

“Yeah, I do.” He’s handed a cup of tea. More chamomile with lemon and honey from the looks of it. There’s a second mug, which Jason sipped from before putting it back on the tray. 

This was news to Bruce. “When were you sick?” He may not always have the best of tabs on his second son, but he does try. 

Jason laughed darkly and leaned over, taking off his boots and putting his socked feet up on the bed. He made himself comfortable and pulled a ratty paperback book out of the pocket of the jacket he’d draped over the chair. He couldn’t see the title. Bruce waited him out, knowing this was part of Jason’s build up. 

He wished that sometimes, his sons weren’t so dramatic. He can’t blame anyone but himself for it, but it’s still something he wished hadn’t rubbed off. Even Cassandra was picking it up. 

“I was patient zero,” Jason finally proclaimed after taking a sip from his tea. 

Bruce sat up at that, ignoring the painful things it was going to do to his lungs. “ _You got Tim sick?_ ” 

“Yep.” Another sip. “Little shit got warned a buncha times to stay the fuck away, but did he listen? Nope.” 

The expected agony didn’t come and Bruce took a tentative sip from his tea instead. This poked a massive hole in his theory, but it did explain how Tim contracted the damn bug. Jason rarely got sick; even as a child during the few years he lived with him and Alfred, he could only remember a couple times where he came down with an actual cold. Each time, he was the most stubborn patient. 

“Tim’s self-preservation instincts can use some work. But I’m glad someone at least took care of you. You’re not the easiest person to deal with when you’re sick.” 

“Pot meet kettle.” Jason saluted him with his mug. “Now shut up and drink your tea.” 

Bruce settled back into the pillows and obeyed, listening as his son’s deep voice read the opening lines to the story he’d always read to him when he was stuck in bed. 

_“This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it…”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> GoAwayOlivia, I decided the Alfred Special deserves it's own tag. Man, I want one right now...


End file.
